Monday, June 30, 2008

Getting Rich One Quarter at a Time. I Wish.

The next time I mention that I am planning to hold a yard sale, please, for the love of God, stop me. I forget how hot my hatred for the stupid things burns and, each time, I enter into the endeavor with optimism and blind faith that this time, it will be different. Shame on me; yard sales are a hotbed of frustration and I should learn my lesson and move on.

Although, we did get rid of a bunch of crap and I did manage to rake in a little over three hundred dollars. Granted, it’s all in quarters but hey, three hundred bucks is three hundred bucks. Now, if I had gotten a quarter for each time I had to explain that, no, I wasn’t willing to lower the price on the almost-brand-new-insert-item-here that my daughter/son only wore once, and, by the way, fifty cents for said item is a steal you crazy, bargain-hunting bastards; I would have earned double that and then some.


Never again, mark my words.



Thursday, June 26, 2008

It’s a Major Award!

The Man-Cub was nominated to play for the All-Star baseball team which is quite the honor. So, I suppose it is wrong that the first thing I thought when I heard the news was “Oh, crap”.

More baseball. Another entire season of baseball. Crap. Crap. Crap.

Still, I’m proud of my boy. Honestly, I am.

Hugh is proud of him as well and, since he doesn’t have to act as head coach for the All Star team, he might get to enjoy the season with less pressure. Unless, of course, I somehow manage to bamboozle him into keeping score in which case; the pressure is back on him, leaving me free to enjoy the season, myself.

Note to Self: Must Work on Bamboozling skills, ASAP.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Nothing In This Post is Remotely Related, Therefore, Segues Between Topics Will Be Random and Haphazardous; Continue At Your Own Risk.

The boys lost their first tournament game Monday night, thus ending their baseball season. The loss led to much disgruntlement on the part of the boys and their coach and to secret high-fives and back-slapping among their mothers. In defense of the mothers, myself included, it had been a loooong season.

Last night, Hugh, the kids and I were invited to an open house at the new Subway restaurant that some friends of ours are opening in town; it is the first franchise of any type to open in our little community and, as such, has caused quite a bit of controversy (We’re selling out! The small-town ambiance will be ruined! We need new businesses in town if the town is to survive in this economy! Subway is delicious! You get the picture) but, last night, the townspeople put on their Sunday finest and congratulated the new entrepreneurs who, I’m sure, will do well with the business.

In today’s Farmers Report; I cut my first batch of lettuce from the garden. I also have three tiny bell peppers on the pepper plants as well as numerous small green tomatoes on the tomato plants (obviously, like, duh, Chelle). The peas that I planted lo these many weeks ago finally decided to sprout and I am feeling less Doomsday about the whole gardening experience. On the other hand, we are down to a handful of Ladybugs so, maybe they know something I don’t and garden Armageddon is just around the corner, who knows?

On the work front, I should mention that Oscar and Emily are due to arrive back in town late this evening. I’m not certain that Emily will come into the store tomorrow to grade my record of management while she was away but, if she does, I am Relatively Confident that she won’t find anything too terribly, dismayingly wrong. Relatively Confident, in this case, being, 89.999%.

Friday I am taking the day off so that I may sell my worldly possessions to strangers on the street AKA: Have a Yard Sale. In preparation of the tortuous event; I will be pulling fifty black Hefty bags down from the attic this evening. I will also be pawing through the contents of numerous boxes, totes, containers, etc. I am Relatively Confident that I will accomplish this task before the Early Birds hit my lawn at dawn on Friday. Relatively Confident, in this case, being 42.4444%. Also, the joy I am feeling at the prospect of attacking the chore is indescribable.

Speaking of joyful occasions, Hugh and I were invited to a wedding later this summer. The bride formerly worked for one of Hugh’s top suppliers and isn’t really someone that we socialize with or really even know all that well so, when the invitation arrived I was like "Who? Oh! Her, yes, I vaguely recall meeting her,...once".

The invitation included information on where the “lovebirds” (gag) are registered (Target, in case you are interested in buying them a gift. Oh! And, please don’t forget to give the “lovebirds” a gift receipt, you know, in case they get duplicates of something!) as well as instructions to please bring a covered dish to the reception.

Am I wrong in finding this a bit, well, tacky? Is this the In thing these days? Potluck receptions? Really? I guess, if it were me, I would use the money that they are spending on their tropical honeymoon to, oh, I don’t know, feed their guests. But, that’s just me; feel free to comment if you think I am wrong.

Oh, and no, we aren’t actually attending the wedding; the Man-Cub has Boy Scout camp that week so my mad skilz with covered dish fare will be needed elsewhere. Plus, the Scouts promised Smores; Smores trump potluck wedding receptions any day.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Social Services Would NOT Approve

Friday morning, Hugh and I took a little trip to the gravel yard to pick out stone edging for the flowerbed that he has been promising me for; oh I don’t know, the past three years? That sounds about right. Anyway, we picked out a very nice stone and, on Saturday, Hugh set about creating my bed.

Having an uncanny knack for knowing when hard work will be required of her; The Girl conveniently arranged to be at Kaz’s house for the majority of the weekend so, it fell upon the Man-Cub to help his father with the herculean feat of not only unloading the pallet of bricks from the truck but in carting them across the yard for later placement.

Once the path of the bed was clearly marked; the boys took off for part unknown or, in this case, to the mulch dealer (I know but, what would you call him? The landscape materials supplier guy? Yeah, that flows off the tip of the tongue so much easier), where Hugh purchased a truck bed full of soft mulch which he and the Cub then proceeded to use to fill in the flowerbed as well as underneath the kids' trampoline.

The Cub was an amazing help throughout the day, never complaining which, when one considers the heat- ninety-eight in the shade-is no small feat. As a reward, we took him out to dinner and then let him stay up as late as he wanted which, after the heat, eight hours of hard manual labor and a stomach stuffed with not only an entire bean burrito plate but a trip to the salad bar; ended up being roughly nine o’clock which is about an hour earlier than his usual summer bedtime.

His exhaustion was worth it; my flower beds are lovely (I know, I know! Selfish much?). I planted seven rosebushes in a variety of colors including a bush called the Disneyland Rose which features blooms in two different colors, pink and orange, on the same plant, how does Mother Nature do it? Anyway, it’s awesome and we are thismuch closer to having an actual back yard; the sprinkler system is scheduled to start going in this weekend and we are hoping to have sod down by the weekend after the Fourth of July which, factoring in Hugh Time, means we should be walking on a velvety carpet of grass by this time in the year 2025.

Can’t wait!

Sunday evening, we joined Jana and company at their place for a belated birthday BBQ for Jana. Her husband, Chris, and I had been trying to surprise her with a family portrait session since before her actual birthday which was last week but, due to them having a schedule almost as wacky as ours, never quite got it done.

Last night, however, we got it done and then some. I think Jana was happy with the end results and we had a really great time doing it.

Also, BBQ, yum.

This week promises to be busy; the Man-Cub’s baseball tournament starts tonight and could go all week. Of course, since it is a single elimination tournament and our season record ended up at 6 wins, 10 losses; it could be over for us as early as tonight. Not that I’m hoping for that, mind you but, Hugh does still have a fishing trip to plan and execute and the summer is just hurling by I mean, the Fourth of July is next weekend, the summer is halfway over.

In equally depressing news; I am having a yard sale this weekend.

Kill me. Kill me, now.

Friday, June 20, 2008

How Summer Was Meant To Be

This week has been the fulfillment of everything that I had envisioned when plotting my Idyllic Summer.

At the baseball game on Monday night, one of our kids got his first hit of the season. This particular child had not even attempted to swing at a ball since the second game of the season when he was hit in the side of the head by the pitcher. Instead, he would step out of the batter’s box and let each pitch go by whether it was a good pitch or not.

Hugh tried everything in his coaching arsenal and nothing would convince the kid to take a swing; he was simply too terrified of being hit by the ball again. Finally, a few weeks ago and in total desperation, Hugh promised to take the whole team fishing if the kid would just swing, he didn’t have to hit, he just had to stay in the box and swing. The rest of the boys like to fish and the prospect of a fishing trip with Coach was enough to turn them into the loudest most encouraging cheering section you ever heard which, I think the kid in question really needed.

When he hit the ball on his second swing on Monday night, the cheering was deafening. Hugh was jumping up and down, the kid’s father was jumping up and down, the entire dugout was jumping up and down and the opposing team was looking at us all like “Folks, it’s just a base hit, damn.” We didn’t care; it was a Hallmark movie moment.

Of course, once the kid was on first base and the rest of the team was gloating over the promised fishing trip, Hugh upped the ante; get the kid all the way home and he would take everyone out for hamburgers after the fishing. The team looked at him like “Done” and, it was, they brought the kid home and, for the first time in his nine years, that kid scored a run.

Hugh marked the date and the accomplishment on the game ball and gave it to the kid and you never saw anyone so proud of a tattered ball in all your life, I assure you. There wasn't a dry eye in the grandstands. Except for the other team, of course, la-hooosers.

Anyhoodle, Tuesday night; Jana and I saw SATC, as I mentioned in an earlier post and, Wednesday night we played our last baseball game of the regular season. We got smoked but we didn’t care, or at least, I didn’t care as my stat-keeping duties were finally over (except for the possibility that I will have to reprise my role as statistician at the up-coming tournament but, I’m not thinking about that , al, la,la, I can’t hear youuu).

Jana and her son joined us at the game and, afterwards, we ate dinner and sat in the rockers on the porch long into the night, drinking wine and watching the kids ride their bikes up and down the hill in front of my house. At one point a group of neighborhood kids rode by, helmetless and carefree and I told Jana “that is how I spent my childhood summers; no helmets, no paranoid parents charting my every move, wondering and worrying when I wasn’t home after dark. I mean; they knew where I was and who I was with, we lived in a small town, everyone knew everyone”. Jana concurred and, feeling slightly nostalgic (and, a little bit buzzed by the Shiraz), we allowed the kids to ditch their own helmets.

Right up until the moment the Man-Cub came sailing down the hill, one foot on the seat of his bicycle, the other leg stretched out behind him, hands on the handlebars and screaming “look at me, Mom! Look what I can do!”

After my heart started beating again; the helmets went back on (I was buzzed, not stupid).

After Jana and company left, I tucked the kids in and asked the Cub if he had remembered to put the tooth that he had lost that day under his pillow. Not only had he remembered; he had written a fairly lengthy letter to the Tooth Fairy to go with it. In the letter he asked for a picture of her as well as for her phone number so, either he is starting to have his doubts about her existence or he wants to ask her out on a date.

Not quite sure which scenario disturbs me the most, there.

Finally, last night Jana, the kids and I went to watch Hugh and Jana’s husband at their Thursday night softball game. They won the game by about twenty runs and were having a great time doing it. After the game, we once again retired to the porch for crusty bread, wine and cheese while the kids played the Wii and the husbands relived every moment of their athletic triumph. It was a nice way to end the day.

And a really great way to spend the majority of our week. So, I’m wondering; how could the weekend be any better?

Stay tuned.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Doing It For the Ladies

I finally saw Sex and the City last night. Jana and I left the kids in the capable hands of our husbands (who encouraged us to see the movie, you know, without them) and hit the grocery store to stock up on essentials for our Bag of Covert Movie Candy….BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, TANGENT ALERT….

Yes, movie theater owners; I know concessions are how you make your profits but, in case you haven’t heard, we are in a recession and I cannot, in good conscious, pay three times as much money for a box of Milk Duds in your theater than I would at the super market, so sorry….END of TANGENT

The movie was quite enjoyable even though it left me missing my Girlfriends, terribly. If you’ve not already seen the movie, you might want to turn away now as I am about to elaborate on the details that make the Carrie/Miranda/Samantha/Charlotte friendship believable and, well, awesome. So, if you haven’t seen it because, like me, you are always late to the party, but! are still planning to see it at some point in the future, you can consider yourself warned.

Awesome moment #1: When Charlotte has The Accident in her pants, finally giving Carrie something to laugh about. I mean really, if you are going to shit your pants in Mexico, you really do want to be with friends who won’t run screaming from the very sight of you. As an aside, this also applies when peeing in a corner of a Mexican hotel room while in a massively intoxicated sleep-walking state. Um, I’ve heard.

Awesome moment #2: When Samantha announces that all four girls are going to Mexico on Carrie’s honeymoon and Miranda objects because she has a job yet; in the very next scene, she is touching down in Mexico. Because, when it comes to a Girlfriend in pain, job-schmob; it’s what you do.

Awesome moment #3: In Mexico, when Samantha hand-feeds Carrie her breakfast yogurt because she is too despondent to do it herself and, she does it without even thinking because, when it comes to your girlfriends, you have their backs, whatever the situation. It's true; every woman in the theater nodded her head and went "Oh, yeah, been there, done that" (FYI, having a girlfriend's back includes holding her hair back while she pukes her guts out following an ill-advised rendezvous with a tequila bottle, picking up random articles of her clothing as she sheds them during a house party because OH MY GOD IS IT HOT IN HERE?! CLOTHING IS THE DEVIL!, cock-blocking inappropriate suitors when she is, shall we say, momentarily incapable of removing the Beer Goggles herself, telling her bedtime stories for as long as it takes for her to get past the bed spins so that she may fall asleep and screening her calls the day after an inapropriate suitor slips through the Beer Goggle Security System. Every one of you women reading this just went "oh, girl! Been there, done that! I see you nodding).

Awesome moment #4: After Carrie flees the church, beats the shit out of Big with her wedding bouquet in the middle of the street and turns to leave and Big tries to follow her to the limo; Charlotte holds out her hand and screams NO! And she like really means NO and it is readily apparent that, given the opportunity, meek little Charlotte would gladly kick Big’s ass even though we all know she hates confrontation; that Mama Bear instinct is a hallmark of a true Girlfriend.

Awesome moment #5: When Carrie walks through the snowy streets of New York City, looking for a cab so that she can make it across the city to Miranda’s apartment in time for Miranda to not be alone as the ball drops on New Year’s Eve.

Awesome moment #6: After Big and Carrie finally get married at City Hall and Big asks Carrie if she wouldn’t have rather had the girls there and Carrie admits that she would have and Big says that he thought so which is why he called them and there they are and oh my god, Big totally GETS it.

Awesome. Of course, as I said earlier, the movie did make me miss my girlfriends horribly. On the other hand, it reminded me how lucky I am to have those girlfriends in my life.

And, you know, to have my own Big who GETS it; as soon as I got home from the theater last night, Hugh asked me when I was planning to visit my Girls since he rather suspected that the movie would throw me into a melancholy funk, the likes of which can only be alleviated by some time with the ladies.

Whenever it does happen, it can’t be soon enough.

Speaking of ladies, Jen at Finland’s Finest asked me to update on the success of Operation Lady Bug Release and I am pleased to report that, as of this morning, we still have about a hundred or so bugs in the garden; I’m thinking that is a pretty good success rate.
And, apparently, even in the insect kingdom, girls stick together.

Monday, June 16, 2008

Please Release Me

Our weekend was as pleasant as any we have had so far this summer. The weather was beautiful, the kids got a chance to slip’n’slide for the first time and, thanks to a festival dedicating a new park in Town Where I Used to Work; they got to climb a rock wall and be doused in a dunk tank, for a good cause, even.

On Sunday, Hugh enjoyed his Father’s Day by grilling flesh on the Barbie and eating an ice cream cake that the children had insisted we buy from Dairy Queen. I resisted the siren call of the ice cream cake for about three seconds before giving in and diving, face first, into the ooey-gooey deliciousness. Aren't you proud of my restraint?

The best part of the day came at dusk, when the kids released 1800 ladybugs into my garden (I am determined to garden without pesticides if at all possible and, after discovering evidence of Bad Bugs-holes! In my leaves!- decided to bust out nature’s little exterminators). The experience was quite cool and both kids are begging to get to do it again sometime. Personally, I'm hoping we won't have to and, since as of nine o’clock this morning, the ladies are still in the garden, enjoying their breakfast; I am somewhat optimistic that they will stick it out for the long haul.

(And, for the handful of lady bugs who attempted to fly away last night, running directly into the Bug-Zapper and frying instantaneously; I'm soooo sorry. We'll take good care of your widows and orphans, I promise.)

Speaking of the long haul; tonight is our last away game for baseball. We have one more home game on Wednesday and then move into the weekend tournament (or so I’m assuming, we have yet to hear any specific details about the alleged tournament; it could be an urban legend, who knows?). I am very much looking forward to the end of the season, as my stat-keeping duties will end with it… freedom!

I am not, however, free from the drudgery of the daily grind and should, therefore, get my butt to the store; the employees seem quite happy to see me on Mondays. Possibly because Monday is payday and I sign the paychecks. Possibly. But, for the sake of my delicate ego, I’m going with; they are just really happy to see me.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Reason #7,583 That I Love My Dad

It’s Father’s Day and I have racked my brain trying to come up with gift ideas for both my dad and Hugh. So far, I have drawn a total blank. Hugh has every tool, electronic gizmo, piece of sporting equipment, etc. that he could ever hope to use and Dad is in pretty much the same position. Time to get creative, I suppose.

On one hand, I could order my Dad some Omaha Steaks and call it good; the man truly does love his meat (I just re-read that sentence and it sounded totally perverted. I wasn’t even trying! Ba, da, dum!).

On the other hand, considering his two heart attacks, the stint in his heart, and his bad knees; I think I would be doing us both a favor if I skipped the gift of cow flesh. After all, I would like to keep him around for as long as possible and, who could blame me; my dad is the perfect dad and I have examples to prove it.

When I was in eighth grade I was on the girls’ basketball team. Why? I do not know. I suck at the sporting endeavors ever so much. But, my dad was waayy into the whole athletics as a character building exercise, etc., etc. and I was waayy into the idea of making the daddy proud, so I gave it a shot.

A few weeks before our first game I had a blow-out in my sneakers. I saw it as an omen that I should give up my spot on the team, my friends, however, were adamant that I just needed new shoes. Not just any shoes, either; high-top Nikes, white with a red Nike swoosh.

These were the shoes that would kick my basketball career into high gear (because high-top Nikes trump natural athletic ability. Obviously) and, eighth grade girls being what they are, the peer pressure was on. I simply HAD To HAVE those shoes. Never mind that they were only available in the sporting goods store seventeen miles away and that they cost a small fortune. They WOULD be mine!

My sudden desperation for those sneakers must have convinced Dad that I had finally experienced my sporting epiphany! Surely, if you want the wardrobe, you must be interested in the game! Hallelujah, I was coming around! However, while Dad made a good living and we didn’t want for much, those shoes were expensive. Dad was going to have to get creative if he wanted me to have them in time for the first game.

The weeks came and went and, no shoes. I was starting to panic; I NEEDED those shoes to make me a star!

The night before the game, Dad went to his weekly card game at The American Legion. I resigned myself to the fact that I would not be wearing new shoes for the game. I would not be a star; I would be an outcast among my peers, forever to be known as the girl in the ripped sneakers.

Are you feeling sorry for me yet? If not, no worries, at that point I was feeling sorry enough for myself for myself for both of us.

At three o’clock in the morning Dad woke me up. As usual, he had played a game of cards with his friend. The friend who just happened to own the sporting goods store. They hadn’t been playing for money that night, and my dad won big. He was so proud when he handed over that box; he took each shoe out and held it up as though worshipping the Holy Grail. We bonded over those shoes, my friends!

Of course I wore them at the game the next day. I got blisters on both heels and, shockingly, was not magically transformed into a natural athlete. In fact, I sucked. But, damn, was I proud of those shoes.

And, even though I sucked, I stuck it out for the whole season.

I think Dad was quite proud too although; I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because of the shoes.

So, you see why I love my Dad so much.

And, if I could just think of a Father’s Day gift that would mean as much to him as those freaking sneakers meant to me, I would be all set but; something tells me I could search my whole life for a gift as special and still come up short.

Thanks, Dad. Thanks for being the dad who went the extra mile for a moody, hypersensitive kid with no natural athletic ability and greasy hair. A kid who probably didn't even say "thank you" (what?! I was thirteen!).

Thank you, Dad.

Happy Father’s Day.

And, I love you.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Free To a Good Home, Yellow Lab, Mostly Trained

Rowdie and I are having a hard time getting along, lately. Hugh blames it on the fact that, at almost two-years-old, Rowdie is just leaving the puppy stage and entering his adolescence. Well, I’ll tell you one thing; I already have a pre-adolescent daughter giving me fits; I do not need a ninety-five pound dog complicating matters.

To wit, in just the last week the dog has:

-Shown a complete disregard for decency by sniffing my sister’s crotch an inordinate number of times.

-Peed on my porch. The porch that Hugh spent hours pressure washing so that it would gleam bright enough to blind me in the morning sun.

-Torn up and eaten the new herb planter that I purchased for the porch (we still aren’t sure if the herbs, now transplanted to a new pot, will make it; they are situation critical at the moment).

-Started barking at butterflies. Butterflies, people, the hell?

Needless to say, I am not impressed with these recent developments. That damn dog had better pass through this stage, pronto. If not, does anyone know of a good military school for pets? Come to think of it, our fifteen year old cat, Gilligan, wasn’t too well-mannered during my sister’s visit, either; the hissing, good god, so; maybe we need a pet military school that offers group discounts.

Oooh! And one that accepts pre-adolescent girls as well. Now that would be a dream institution.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Over Too Soon

Barbie and my nephew leave for home today. We are sad to see them go; we’ve had such a good time during their visit. Also, it would appear that they are our good luck charm as far as baseball goes; we won last night’s game as well as Monday’s. Unfortunately, when we suggested that they stay through next week’s end-of-season tournament, they declined so, hopefully; their luck will rub off on us and we will win in their absence.

Our visit has been such a nice change of pace from the ordinary; we shopped, gossiped, watched the kids bond over water gun fights and Wii baseball and generally enjoyed a relaxing time. Out of the ordinary for my nephew was the trip to the local dairy to buy our household’s weekly supply of milk. The Man-Cub had been telling him all about the cow that makes chocolate milk and they were excited to see it. For the record, when we asked our friend who owns the dairy exactly which cow makes chocolate milk, he said the brown own, obviously.

Hopefully, Barbie will be able to make a return visit, soon. Her husband, who was on a business trip this time around, doesn’t know what he missed I mean, come on, a chocolate-milk-producing-cow. It doesn’t get much better than that.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

The Barbie Says Helloooo!

Greetings from Ouray Hot Springs pool!

Even though we managed to get sunburned through multiple layers of sunscreen, ate waaay too much ice cream at the old fashioned candy store and pushed our children to the limits of their self-control following a night of very little sleep, too much excitement (the Man-Cub’s team WON a game! By numerous runs! Runs too numerous to mention while retaining any semblance of humility or humbleness! We smoked another team! Holy cow!) and more sugar than you can shake a stick at; we are all having a great time!

Wish you were here.

Monday, June 09, 2008


My younger sister, know affectionately on this here blog as The Barbie, is coming to town for a three-day visit. She and my nephew arrive today and I am looking forward to introducing them to my small town and the cast of characters whom she hears about each time we talk on the phone.

Hugh and I have lived here for almost ten years but, due to circumstances; this is the first time my sister has been to our home. Yesterday, I pulled out the Honey-Do list and ramped up the pressure on Hugh, bribery, threats and/or intimidation may have been involved but, I am proud to say; he crossed every item off the list and I now feel prepared to play the part of Hostess with the Mostess.

Or, at the very least Hostess with the Mostess Wine and Chocolate Chip Cookies.

And, because she is my flesh and blood and must, therefore, love me no matter what; that’ll do.

Friday, June 06, 2008

It’s a Bad Day For Bob

Each week, we travel to the pet store to pick up the half-dozen or so crickets that will make up Tank’s diet for the week. For the first few weeks, the Man-Cub struggled to come up with names for each of the crickets and, I’m not sure it’s politically correct to say this but; crickets all look alike. Naming them was one thing, keeping track of who was who until they met their untimely demise was another matter, entirely.

Finally, the Cub settled on calling all the crickets Bob so, we now venture to the pet store each week to buy a new bag of Bobs for the tarantula to stalk, terrify and, ultimately; suck the life out of.

Which has led to an interesting phenomenon in my home; when one of us is having a bad day, another of us inevitably says “It could be worse, you could be Bob”.

Kind of puts things into perspective, don't you think?

Thursday, June 05, 2008

Complaint Department, Now Open

The blankets came out again at last night’s baseball game which, considering how warm the weather was for Monday night’s game, sucked. Like, really sucked. We are talking sweaty donkey- balls-suckage, here.

For one thing, it is June as in, summertime; we should not be freezing, we should be sweating (or, in my case, glowing). For another thing, the cold weather gets into my joints and causes me no end of back pain and aching; I just cannot get comfortable and it annoys the crap out of me and, yes; I am eight hundred years old, where is my lap robe and my walking stick, sonny? Plus, it cannot be good for my flowers and vegetables to go from a high of ninety down to the low sixties in the course of a day; no wonder my gardening efforts are likewise sucking sweaty donkey balls.

Anywaaay…back to the game; when I was still cold, despite the blankets, The Girl offered to run to the diner for coffee and I was more than happy to take her up on it. She also took orders from the other mothers who were brave enough to watch the game from the bleachers rather than from the relative warmth of their cars and thus ended up returning from the diner with a drink carrier chock-full of caffeinated goodness for which we were all suitably grateful.

At this point I should probably mention that we finally got The Girl’s end-of-year grades and I am proud to report that she pulled in all A’s and B’s which, factoring in her considerable trouble with math; was quite an achievement. In the interest of full disclosure, I should also mention that she was tardy 22 times. Twenty-two times; no wonder she was on a first-name basis with the detention monitor.

Of course, despite her inability to arrive at class on time, we are very proud of her and; not just because she fetches coffee for her poor, aching, old lady of a mother.

Speaking of aching; Wii hula-hoop kicked my ass. I would be embarrassed to admit that were it not for the fact that it kicked Hugh’s ass ever so much harder. If I am old and decrepit before my time, at least I am in good company.

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, How Does Your Garden Grow?

Not worth a shit, thanks for asking.

Seriously, this gardening thing is going to be the death of me. All I wanted was a nice kitchen plot from which I could harvest the vegetables that my family likes best. I have watered, fertilized, weeded, talked nicely to and babied these stupid f#&*%#$ing plants for three weeks, now; do you think I see any sort of results for my efforts? I do not.

Of the approximately one hundred peas I planted, two have managed to sprout. Two.

The green bean growth is likewise retarded as is the growth of the carrot seeds I lovingly sowed into the ground, with my bare hands.


As it appears, I can’t even depend on plants from the nursery; I’ve lost two of the bell pepper plants, a Brussels sprout plant (and the Man-Cub goes wild!) and a cabbage plant and, ok, maybe I’m not the world’s biggest fan of brussel sprouts and cabbage but they are healthy and I’m thinking of the children.

Clearly, something needs to be done to salvage my efforts; I have no idea what but, something.

I do not want to have to buy all our vegetables at the grocery store this summer so, it’s either find a way to convince these bastard plants to grow or give up a healthy diet in favor of Little Debbie snack cakes and chocolate-chip-ice-cream-cookies.

As an aside, how awesome would a garden of Little Debbies and ice cream sandwiches be?

Pretty. Damn. Awesome.

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Ok, So We Aren’t Off To a Great Start

Operation Idyllic Summer hit a bit of a snafu this weekend, when household chores crowded out swimming pools and campfires. I'm ok with it though; I always play better when I know I have an organized home to return to, not quite sure why that is except for the part where my mother drilled it into my head.

Thanks, Mom.

So, now I have a clean and organized (for the most part) house. The Girl even managed to clean her room, including the closet wherein she found a virtual treasure-trove of clothing that never got worn and is now officially too small. That’s bad. The good news is; we have friends who are adopting eight and nine year old girls from Kazakhstan and they will make good use of the clothing.

The rest of the crap that the children discovered and decided to discard is now tucked away in the attic, awaiting our yard sale later this month.

Yard sales, oiy vey. They are the bane of my summer existence yet, highly profitable and ultimately worth the effort.

In baseball news; we lost yet another game last night. This time, we were up against the other hometown nine and ten year old team. That team just happens to be comprised of mostly ten-year-olds to our mostly nine-year-old crew but, I’m not complaining; Hugh hand-picked our team because the boys have played together for the past three years and are comfortable with each other. I’m also not blaming the loss on the age difference; we only lost by three runs and we held the other team to a low score so, I think the boys were fairly evenly matched despite their ages.

It is kind of awkward to cheer for your team when the parents of the other team’s players are friends or acquaintances, though. Also, there were a couple of coaches from the older kids’ teams in attendance as well as a few Board members and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that they were scouting for the nine-and-ten All-Star team that will play later this summer. I’m not much of a fan of all-Star teams for this age group but, that is a rant for another time.

Like when so-and-so’s son doesn’t make the All-Star team and how could you not pick their preshus junior!?? Are you blind to his mad baseball skilz? He rules at second base! How could you overlook that natural ability? The talent, my god!

You get the picture. It’s bound to get ugly.

After all, we all know that my son is the Wizard of Second Base.

Like, duh.